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A whole lotta songs by the same artists on Sirius XM Canada

By Joel RubinoffTorstar News Service

Sun., Oct. 16, 2016

My plans to launch the world’s first Engelbert Humperdinck radio station appear to have hit a snag.

“For a channel to go on 24/7, we need a catalogue of 400 songs,” notes Jeff Leake, music programming director at Sirius XM Canada.

Not to disparage her talent, but unless it’s being used in public spaces to deter criminal activity, I fail to see the point.

And Jimmy Buffett’s “Radio Margaritaville”?

Parrothead or not, how many songs about sponge cake and sun bakes can one hear before the urge to smash something overrides all reason?

Even artists I’m fond of — Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, Grateful Dead — are wearing me out with round the clock programming focused entirely on their own work.

Oh great: another alternate bootleg of “Thunder Road,” not to be confused with the half-dozen that came before.

And why does “Elvis Radio” arbitrarily cut off its playlist at 1970, as if the last seven years of the King’s life never happened?

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In for a dime, in for a dollar, I say.

“We always want to program channels we know will get the maximum audience,’’ says Leake, noting that 90 per cent of Sirius channels are imported from outside Canada.

Leake is a nice guy who seems genuinely helpful, but when I outline plans for a Countrypolitan channel featuring ’60s crossover stars like Glen Campbell, Tammy Wynette and the woman who sang “Ode to Billie Joe,” his reception is decidedly cool.

There’s market research behind this stuff, it turns out: realms of technical data that indicate Sirius listeners want Steely Dan’s “Deacon Blues” playing on five different channels four times a day and the Bay City Rollers M.I.A. for all eternity.

“How about a station devoted to early ’70s bubble gum?” I suggest, anticipating (though not entirely) an enthusiastic response. “The Archies, Partridge Family, 1910 Fruitgum Company?”

Nope.

“The Bayou,” a swamp rock repository for artists like Creedence Clearwater Revival, Jerry Reed and the guy who sang “Spiders and Snakes”?

How about “1971,” a channel devoted exclusively to the year I turned 11, which happened to boast a delightfully discordant mix of music genres coexisting peacefully on the charts? John Denver, Rod Stewart, the Temptations, Janis Joplin, the Rolling Stones.

Ahem, no.

The problem, of course, is that while I’m as musically obsessive as every other Sirius listener, my eclectic tastes don’t translate into big ratings numbers, like say, the people who dote on Garth Brooks.

“There’s only so much room in satellite,” points out Leake delicately. “We have 140 channels. If we put in a new one, something else has to go.”

They tried it once, when the easy listening “Escape” — which plays schmaltzy lounge instrumentals geared for dentists offices and underwater synchro competitions — was turned into an Internet-only channel.

Guess what? There was a huge outcry: people crawling out of the woodwork, pleading. ‘Please, please, bring back Chris Botti and his magical trumpet. My life is over!’

“It forced its way back,” says Leake, surprised by the response.

The “superfans” also like “Liquid Metal,” a channel Sirius at one point tried to fold into “Ozzy’s Boneyard” only to find itself besieged with angry letters, tweets and emails.

“We made a mistake,” concedes Leake sheepishly. “We had to bring it back.”

The more Leake talks, the more I envision Sirius listeners as a gang of frenzied junkies, feeding their addictions to Elvis, Pearl Jam and ’70s pop hits with the service’s all-you-can-eat broadcast formula.

It’s a far cry from the Top 40 stations of my childhood, big tent, one-size-fits-all behemoths that embraced every musical genre without regard for style, tempo or lyrical concerns.

That was then. In the years since the digital revolution brought the hammer down to create an “On Demand” paradigm, fans have been free to pursue musical niches unfettered by exposure to things they may not like.

“Nirvana fans can’t stand Kings of Leon,” points out Leake, when I suggest dumping all the hard rock into one garbage repository and letting them slug it out. “And Led Zeppelin fans don’t like Nirvana.”

Sirius — with channels devoted to ’70s disco, big band classics, road trip anthems and yacht rock — knows it’s a tricky balance between niche and mainstream, between the overfamiliarity that plagues terrestrial radio and nudging people, with nonhit album tracks, toward an expanded playlist they won’t get tired of.

“The reason why you hear those particular cuts is because they were part of albums that were played back to front at gatherings and social events,” explains Leake when I posit that playing songs that never received airplay seems a dubious proposition.

“These songs managed to gain familiarity without radio support. No CDs on random, no iPods on genius. We used to buy albums and listen to them front to back.”

The problem for people like me, who find the prospect of nothing but Bruce Springsteen music oppressive, is that it’s hard to settle on just one station. Or two. Or three.

So I find myself artificially recreating the radio stations of my youth, sans commercials, hunting and pecking, hunting and pecking between 18 or 20 channels as I barrel down the highway, trying to approximate a playlist I can live with while veering between tractor trailers.

Tammy Wynette on “Willie’s Roadhouse”; Will Smith “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It” on “90s on 9”; Steve Earle extending his middle finger on “Outlaw Country”; Kelly Clarkson blasting old boyfriends on “Pop2K”; U2 pumping out power chords on “1st Wave”; the Hues Corporation rocking the boat on “70s on 7.”

It’s the culture of “never enough” and I’m as susceptible as the next person.

“Forget Engelbert,” I posit, determined to reconfigure my pitch as a marketer’s dream.

“And I know our staff are always trying to bring the best programming to the platform. These channels take a considerable amount of effort to produce.”

We agree that future channels devoted to the music of Taylor Swift and Adele are inevitable.

But the one idea that really grabs his attention is my proposed compendium of pre-millennial boy bands — Backstreet Boys, Boyz II Men, New Kids on the Block — that would stoke marketable ’90s nostalgia.

“I’m going to write that down,” he says, which prompts my final question: will he cut me in for a percentage of the profits?

When his email response comes bouncing back, I’m on the edge of my seat: “Since I’m not in charge. YES!”

It may not be my first choice for a new Sirius channel, but if Boyz II Men can open the door for 1910 Fruitgum Company and the Archies, I can live with it.

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